The Mistress sighs, breath hitching up as her eyes roll a little, lips parted in a silent plea to be kissed. She arches up into their grasp and Rassilon- she doesn't know which one this is but it's always been like this- always.
Lips along her ribcage, unbound for once, below her breasts and the heat of breath against her skin. Fingers are sure and steady, firm as they press into her skin, hold her there, dig into her flesh in the most delightful way and the Doctor- her Doctor- they ghost their lips over the sensitive skin of her stomach and she sucks in another gasp again, catching as she presses herself up, desperate for more of their touch, needing the contact more than anything she has ever needed in any regeneration. Her voice hitches up in a strangled cry as the Doctor lays their head against her stomach and she curls slightly, looks into their eyes and she can't even tell which one they are looking at their face- short hair but they've always, always had short hair- nothing like hers now, soft beneath her, beneath them both as she feels that weight on her stomach, breathes in and out, feels that weight shift with her, so warm and heavy as they breathe over her skin, in and out just like her.
She runs her tongue over her lips and pulls them both up, pressing their bodies together, flesh to flesh as she runs her hand down the Doctor's side, around their back, up their spine and into their hair, tugging lightly, just enough- just what they like- and receive a shudder in return and a gasp.
Their eyes are closed, lips parted too as the Mistress presses them against her, other hand on their back, lips on their neck, the barest hint of teeth and the Doctor is there too, gasping, hands moving down, insistent against her back and the back of her thigh as they pull her too needing closer, more.
She presses them down, onto the bed or the ground- she's quite forgotten to care- and looks at them for a moment, both of their chests heaving as she tries to see which one she has in front of her, beneath her.
She can't tell and she doesn't care as their hand traces against her stomach, gentle, as if she was so so much more breakable than she is and they just breathe together, not in time but that's never mattered as they stare at each other, drink in the warmth, the need, the want in their eyes.
She watches, breath catching again as they take her hand and press their lips to her knuckles, soft, gaze tangled with hers still.
The Mistress shudders, tectonic plates shifting, solar flares, tearing through time and space and reason.
She bends down and their breath meets as they both still, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting.
She presses her lips against theirs hard and gasps into their mouth, feeling the trace of a tongue against the inside of her lips, the tingling of the contact between them as she presses herself against them once more, kisses them deeply and holds on to that sensation of burning as she feverishly takes what she needs and gives everything that they are into the inferno between them which fills every corner of the universe that matters, screaming through time, through space the things they could never truly say in words to each other.